


In the Mirror

by AmunetMana



Series: In the Mirror [1]
Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: And Loki, Angst, Asgard, Crossdressing, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Guilt, I feel really bad for Thor, I kind of blame Sif for this, Jealousy, Longing, and it's gender roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmunetMana/pseuds/AmunetMana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor is faced with truths he never wanted to acknowledge whenever he looks in a mirror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Don't Leave Me the Way I Am](https://archiveofourown.org/works/440176) by [glayish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glayish/pseuds/glayish). 



> A lot of stories look at Asgard having strict gender roles...I guess I wanted to look at that, except I didn't want to use Loki as my example, since it's always him that's being accused of womanly ways, with his magic and tricks as opposed to hammer-wielding melee style battle.
> 
> So I turned my attentions to Thor instead. The poor guy. Inspired by "Don't Leave Me the Way I Am" because that was another story which showed Thor not fitting in to the perfect idea of an Asgardian Prince.

It didn't suit him.

That was putting it mildly.

It looked hideous, stretched and distorted over his shape, and Thor wanted to cry. But he wouldn't cry, because he was a boy, a warrior, a boy-man-warrior-male-notgirlnotfemalethiswaswronghewaswrong _wrongwrong-_

The dress shifted uncomfortably, and Thor wondered if it would rip. The dress he had worn in his disguise as Freyja had fit well enough, but he supposed Loki had had a hand in that. He couldn't trust Loki to see him now, not when he had no excuse, no stolen hammer to retrieve. Only willingly-discarded pride and a stolen silk gown that did nothing but prove how wrong he was, how twisted his thoughts were, how what he wanted wasn't right.

Thor had protested, fiercely, the time he had been sent to retrieve mjolnir in disguise. All the while he had stood there, shouting and protesting until his face turned bluer than a frost giant's, he had been wondering, couldn't help but wonder, just who he was trying to convince. Convince the gods, that he was Thor and would not be _humiliated_ by wearing a dress? Or convince himself that the frantic thumping of his heart and the heat in his cheeks was not the result of something entirely different from embarrassment. The result of excitement. Thrill. Enjoyment even, of seeing himself in the long mirror, swathed in rich embroidered fabrics like a maiden, face clean-shaven and hair hidden beneath a veil. The sight of his own face ruined it if he looked too long, but he was able to avoid looking too hard.

He wondered why Loki hadn't questioned the clumsy attempt to sway his hips like he'd seen other women, even warrior Sif, do.

He wondered even more how Loki had not made a laughing stock of him already. Nothing ever truly slipped past his brother, and Thor would have thought knowledge such as this, knowledge that could ruin Thor for eternity would be just the kind he sought after. Thor wondered if despite his constant fears that he was unable to conceal anything, that his face was an open book for all to read was entirely true. Maybe he had by force of necessity and survival in the kind of world he lived in, he had become better at lying than he thought.

Although to be fair, he had only ever done things by half. In his childhood he had been...happier, he supposed. His figure had been naturally slimmer, his golden hair kept long to the point where he and Sif were often confused for each other from a distance. And how he had tried not to let that thrill him too, especially after seeing the look on Odin's face, on Frigga's face even, as he had tried to mimic Sif's movements even then.

He didn't dislike fighting. He enjoyed it, enjoyed sparring, especially with Sif as his partner, _look at them, so similar, can hardly tell them appart..._

But that doesn't stop him from watching as Loki, little pale Loki, was lead away to learn magic, _women's work_ come the crueler whispers. Thor sits alone in his room later that evening and clicks his fingers, watching the sparks of lightning flash between them. Clearly it was not enough. Not enough to make him eligible for lessons alongside his brother in the ways of developing and expanding such powers, learning how to weave them to act on his will, to create and change from nothing.

He doesn't know whether to be sick with relief or sick with jealousy.

How he had panicked when he had started to change. The broadening of his shoulders, the deepening of his voice, had brought him nothing but dismay. The panic which welled in his chest, the way he wanted only to scream at the men who clapped him on the back, _look at him, a man now, finally growing up, he'll be a fine King-_

Thor looked up to his mother, sitting beside Odin, and wondered just what it meant to be a Queen.

Thor had avoided the beard for as long as possible. Had scrambled for a blade as soon as he detected hair, cutting it away as quickly as he could, trying not to leave evidence. _it was not his fault, after all, if it simply didn't grow in the first place_. He could not wear a beard if it did not come in the first place. He could go without. He had received strange looks. Already filling out wide, wide shoulders and large muscles, but still with long hair falling down his back, _girlish hair_ and a clear, hairless face, they began to whisper, and they did not mean it in the compliment Thor wished they did. Then he fell ill, and was not able to meticulously destroy all evidence of a beard on his face. And once it had been discovered, coward he was, he bowed to expectation. The next day, he took the blade to his long hair instead of his beard, and emerged transformed. A boy, grown into a man. Repulsive.

Sometimes, he wondered if Loki realised that jealousy went both ways. Or rather, that he did not have a monopoly on jealousy and envy. It was cruel of Thor to think that way, he knew. But sometimes he wanted to be cruel, wanted to mock Loki because Loki was slender and clean-shaven and could wear a dress and receive only a token protest from their parents, from the whole of Asgard who would just roll their eyes, _oh it's just Loki, planning some trick no doubt._ Thor would give anything for that chance.

He would give anything for even an ounce of his brother’s courage to disregard the opinions of others.

Thor was abruptly dragged back to the present, where he found his fists clenched in the fabric of the dress, pulling it taught across thick, muscled legs until the silk strained. Thor abruptly relaxed his fists, feeling the tremble that ran through his fingers as he smoothed down the fabric softly, reverently. His gaze drifted upwards to the mirror once again.

It still didn't suit him.

Was still stretched out where it shouldn't be, and too loose in places where it should accentuate. It was, in every sense of the word, the wrong fit. He was a prince of Asard. He was, physically, a man that stood out amongst men.

 _But mentally?_ Thor thought to himself as he fumbled with the ties to the dress, tugging it with the same careful, trembling reverence over his head, freeing himself from the silk ( _but oh how he missed it immediately, wanted to pretend, wanted to forget, even for a moment-_ ) Mentally, Thor would never be the prince that they wanted. Could never. Clutching the dress in his hands, swaying his hips when no one could see, and watching only from afar as girls gossiped and laughed together in the streets, Thor could only dream of the life that had never, and would never be his.


End file.
